


The Turducken

by mambo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Shrunkyclunks, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, cap!steve - Freeform, modern!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 13:24:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16975398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mambo/pseuds/mambo
Summary: “I shoved it up the butt,” Bucky says, eyes wide, one hand shoved up the turkey’s behind. “And I can’t get out.”(In which Captain America saves his love interest from Thanksgiving dinner.)





	The Turducken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladivvinatravestia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladivvinatravestia/gifts).



> To honor the victims of the shooting at Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh, I wrote fics to benefit [HIAS](https://www.hias.org/), an incredible organization that’s done so much good for refugees around the world. @ladivvinatravestia asked for a Thanksgiving Shrunkyclunks AU. Thank you for your generosity, ladivvinatravestia!!

“Is this…” Steve trails off for a moment, trying to remember the words he’s trying to find. “Molecular gastronomy?” he asks with a small smile, pleased that he found that phrase from the back of his mind.

Bucky, fondling one helluva turkey, frowns. “Where’d you learn that word?” he asks.

“Tony took me to dinner at Atera a few months ago.”

“How was that?”

Steve shrugs. “I ordered a pizza when I got home. Small portions.”

Bucky nods, like that’s a very sensible response to going to one of New York’s most important restaurants. That’s one of the reasons that Steve likes this guy so much. “I get antsy if a meal lasts more than an hour,” Bucky says.

“I’ve noticed,” Steve says with a smile, thinking of all the times Bucky’s declined dessert at a restaurant only to beg Steve to go get ice cream an hour later.

“Anyway, according to the Food Network, this mother fucker is gonna take fourteen hours,” he says, grabbing the biggest turkey of them all and setting it in their shared cart. His muscles flex beneath his fitted black t-shirt as he lifts it — the bird is gigantic — and Steve bites down on his bottom lip. He didn’t know someone could be so handsome while they lift a turkey, but Bucky can make just about any mundane activity intoxicating to Steve’s eyes. Natasha once described the way Steve looks at Bucky as ‘heart eyes’. Steve doesn’t think she’s wrong.

“But is it molecular gastronomy?” Steve asks, just to get his mind on something else.

Bucky snorts. “No,” he says, smile spreading into a grin. “I think it’s a molecular gastronomist’s nightmare.”

“Then why are we making it?” Steve asks as they start moving to the duck.

“Thanksgiving is a nightmare holiday celebrating genocide. So I will make an abomination to celebrate it.” He pauses, looking down at the turkey. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to spend the day with the people I love,” he adds, voice quiet, almost indiscernible above the screechy wheels of their cart and the voices of the other shoppers around them.

“Thanks for the invite,” Steve says. He feels eyes on him from some of the people in the store, but no one’s approached, which is nice. Sometimes he’s okay with people asking him for selfies or an autograph, but he doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s with Bucky. Not that Bucky seems to mind it that much, but Steve does. He likes to focus his attention when Bucky’s around.

“Yeah, well.” Bucky looks back up at Steve, smiling again. “If I have the chance to invite Captain America to the all-American holiday, then I’ve gotta take it.”

“Do you know?” Steve asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah. One photo of you with this baby—” He points to the turkey. “—And my Instagram followers will quadruple.”

Coming from anyone else, it would make Steve roll his eyes. But it’s Bucky, and he knows that Bucky is just pulling his leg, so he laughs.

— —

Disaster strikes in the eleventh hour.

“I shoved it up the butt,” Bucky says, eyes wide, one hand shoved up the turkey’s behind. “And I can’t get out.”

Steve, still pulling off his coat, just stares at the mess in front of him. He didn’t know what to expect when he got the simple text from Bucky:  _SOS_. This kitchen sure does look like a boat going under. The turkey looks half-mangled, bits of duck and chicken strewn around it. The rest of the kitchen doesn’t seem to have fared much better. There’s a pot near boiling over on the stove, a pile of what may be mashed potatoes on the floor.

“Bucky, what happened?” Steve asks, looking around the room like he may look at a battle field, wide-eyed and, his mouth slightly agape.

“I know, I  _know_ ,” Bucky says. “But step one is getting my hand out of this ass, I’m…” He trails off and Steve realizes that his eyes are brimming with tears.

Steve’s over there a moment later. “Okay, what’s going on?” he asks in a quiet voice, a hand on the small of Bucky’s back as he looks at Bucky’s hand, or at least what’s visible of it.

“I think it’s stuck on a sharp bone or something,” he says. “I’m afraid that I’ll make it worse if I pull it out.”

“You’re cut?” Steve asks. Bucky nods.

“Okay, let’s just…” He pauses, frowns. “I’ll try cutting you out. Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah. Please don’t cut off my hand, but yeah.”

It takes a good twenty minutes of careful cutting, Bucky keeping his eyes shut and just trying to breathe. He’s in a lot of pain, even if he’s being brave about it. When Steve can finally unearth Bucky’s hand, he sees a sharp bone impaling Bucky’s thumb. It makes Steve wince, even if he’s seen much worse. But there’s something really gross about blood mixing with turkey (and chicken and duck).

“I think we’re just going to have to slide you off,” he says, grabbing a towel from nearby. Bucky nods. “One, two…” He guides Bucky’s hand off of the bone. Bucky makes a small, unhappy noise, then allows Steve to wrap his hand in the towel. It’s still bleeding.

“I ruined Thanksgiving,” Bucky says miserably as he stares at his towel-wrapped hand. “Even if the turkey could be salvaged, I think I’d get shut down by the health inspector.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Steve says in a quiet voice. “We’ll figure something out.”

“But—”

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts gently. “All of us will just be thankful if you feel better.  Let’s get this cleaned up, then we can figure out dinner.”

— —

“A turducken?” Tony asks. “Did I actually hear that word come out of your mouth?”

“Yes,” Steve says, steadfast.

“Okay, a turducken it is. Where do you need it?” Steve rattles off Bucky’s address. “And all the fixings?”

“If you can swing it,” Steve says.

“If I can swing it, he says, like I’m some kind of amateur. You’ll have a veritable feast: six kinds of yams, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes within the skins in them, pumpkin and pecan pie—”

“No pie,” Steve interrupts. “No dessert, actually.”

“Why not?” Tony asks.

“No reason,” Steve says. “Just… no dessert.”

— —

That night, once Bucky’s family and friends have left the apartment and the two of them have finished cleaning up, Bucky takes a seat on the couch and shuts his eyes. “What a day,” he says. He opens one eye to take a look at Steve. “Thanks for saving it, Captain America.” It’s the kind of thing that Bucky usually says with a sarcastic edge, but there’s something about his voice that comes out shaky, nervous. Steve doesn’t want him to sound that way, at least not when he’s talking to him.

“It’s my job,” Steve says. “I like saving you, though.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I’m so pathetic?”

“No, because I like you,” Steve says simply.

Bucky just looks at him for a long moment. “I like you, too.” A faint blush colors his cheeks.

“Wait here,” Steve says.

“Oh, like I was going to go somewhere,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes as Steve leaves the room.

It takes Steve a few minutes to get everything together, then he walks back into the living room to where Bucky sits, now with the National Dog Show playing on the TV. He turns when he hears Steve, then lights up. “Is that pie?” he asks.

“Apple,” Steve says, setting one slice — warmed, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream — on the coffee table in front of Bucky, and another for himself before sitting down. “Homemade,” he adds.

“It smells delicious,” Bucky says, but he’s not looking at the pie, he’s just looking at Steve.

“I was kind of proud of it,” Steve admits. “I don’t usually bake.”

“It’s… I’m…” He pauses, leans in, and kisses Steve on the lips, slow and lingering. When he pulls away, Steve’s heart hammers. “That’s what I wanted to say. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says.

Bucky settles into his side, pulling the plate of pie onto the lap.

And as they watch the dog show together, Steve thinks that he’s thankful for a lot of things in life. But today, he’s thankful for Bucky, his new boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also donate to [HIAS](https://www.hias.org/)!
> 
> Follow me on [Twitter](twitter.com/mamboao3) or [Tumblr](whtaft.tumblr.com).


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